The tension building within the gang was unsettling, what with all the deaths, particularly Hosea’s, sending Dutch off the deep end into whatever spiral he had long since started.

Arthur was getting sicker, his face gaunt and pale, hacking out bloody coughs whenever he thought no one else was around.

“When the time comes, I need you to take care of yourself, y’hear me?” His grip on your shoulder is tight with worry, voice accompanied by a painful wheeze.